Stagestruck

8

Apolice car and an ambulance were parked in front of the triple-arched theatre entrance in Saw Close. The whole area was congested with people arriving for the matinee.

‘The stage door,’ Diamond said to Keith Halliwell, and headed along the paved passage, past the tables outside the Garrick’s Head. His negative feelings about entering the theatre had to be ignored. When you get the shout in CID you can’t stop to think. Up the steps into the dim interior, they found their way through the backstage honeycomb and emerged under the fly tower, where an assortment of actors and technicians were gazing upwards at two paramedics and a uniformed police officer who had made their way along a narrow catwalk close to where a body was jackknifed over a pair of battens suspended from the grid under the roof. One arm hung down. The other must have been trapped.

‘Do we know who it is?’ he asked a stagehand.

‘It must be the dresser. She went missing earlier.’

Missing no longer. He hadn’t met Denise Pearsall and wouldn’t have recognised her. All he could make out was that whoever was up there was dressed in jeans and black trainers. There was no indication of life.

He stood for a moment in silence. Violent death of any sort is a desecration, deserving of pity. A fall on to steel battens, almost certainly fracturing the spine, was chilling to contemplate. Here was a woman who had been in the prime of a useful, creative life. Who could say what hopes, memories, disappointments had been prematurely ended by this act?

A short, stout, self-important man in a striped suit came over and put an end to compassionate thoughts. ‘Plainclothes police, are you? I’m the theatre director, Hedley Shearman. I made the emergency call.’

‘Was it you who found her?’

‘I was with Gisella, one of the cast, and we happened to look up and had the shock of our lives. That arm, hanging down. Dreadful.’

‘Are you certain who she is?’

‘It has to be Denise, Clarion’s dresser. You can’t see her face from here, but some of her long red hair is visible. I knew she was upset by what happened on Monday. She phoned yesterday and told me she couldn’t face coming in for last night’s performance. God forgive me, it didn’t cross my mind that she was suicidal.’

Diamond turned to Halliwell and asked him to pass the news to Manvers Street, making clear that although the missing person enquiry would shortly be called off, the dead woman’s car still needed to be found. ‘Where does she park?’ he asked Shearman.

‘The nearest is right across the street, but it’s so small you hardly ever get in there on a weekday. Most of us use Charlotte Street or the multi-storey in Corn Street.’

Halliwell used his personal radio.

‘When did you spot her?’ Diamond asked Shearman.

‘Twenty minutes ago. Gisella – who is playing Sally Bowles now – had just arrived for the matinee and I wanted to point something out to her in the fly tower. She looked up and saw the arm. She’s profoundly shocked, as I was. She wants to go on, though. I’m not planning to cancel the performance.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ Diamond said.

‘It’s all right. Nothing is visible to the audience,’ Shearman added in earnest support of his decision. ‘There are no scene changes. The set is all in place. You and your officers can remain at the back here throughout and you won’t disrupt the show.’

A cancelled performance was anathema to theatre people. And from a police point of view it might suit to have the minimum of fuss. Yet how bizarre to have an audience enjoying the play while a corpse was behind the backcloth.

‘No. Send them home.’

Shearman was appalled. ‘What – cancel, at this late stage? Impossible. Denise wouldn’t have wanted that.’

‘Denise is out of the equation. It’s my decision.’

‘I don’t know about that. I’m in charge here. What can I possibly say to people?’

‘Unforeseen circumstances. The truth will have leaked out anyway. They’ve seen the ambulance and the police cars as they came in.’

‘We’ve got coach parties coming in from miles around.’

‘Bath isn’t short of other attractions. They’ll think of something else to do. Teashops, pubs, shopping. I suggest you make the announcement now if you want us out before the evening performance.’

Red-faced and angry, Shearman caved in and used his phone to issue instructions.

‘Make sure the staff don’t leave as well,’ Diamond told him. ‘I may need to question them.’

For all his bluster, Shearman wasn’t going on stage to announce the cancellation. He delegated that thankless task to his front-of-house manager.

‘Did anyone see Denise arrive this morning?’ Diamond asked.

He shook his head. ‘Someone would have told me. I was trying to contact her.’

‘So when do you think this happened?’

‘I’ve no idea how long she’s been up there. People are walking through here a lot, but you don’t look up unless you have a reason.’

‘What was your reason?’

‘I told you, I was with Gisella. She’s the understudy who took over from Clarion. I wanted to show her the lucky butterfly – as encouragement.’

Diamond’s interest quickened. ‘Butterfly, you said?’

‘Not a real one. A piece of scenery from way back. You can see it yourself right up near the roof if you stand in the right place. A dusty old thing more than sixty years old, but we value it as an emblem of good fortune.’

‘Show me.’

Shearman moved a few strides to the left and pointed upwards, across the tower and at a higher level from where the corpse was lodged. A flashlight would have helped. Fortunately the thing suspended among other strips of scenery was colourful enough to make out. Red, purple, green and yellow and with scalloped edging, it didn’t look like any species of butterfly known to biology.

‘The scene painter enjoyed himself by the look of it.’

‘It was for a pantomime.’

‘Ah, I heard about this from someone else. So you looked for the butterfly and saw the body?’

‘Gisella spotted it first. To her credit, she didn’t scream. I almost did myself when she pointed.’

‘Gisella stayed calm?’

‘I wouldn’t say calm. She was in control, but obviously shaken.’

‘So you’re saying the body could have been there some hours without anyone noticing?’

‘Quite possibly. It’s dark up there, as you see.’

‘Nobody goes up between performances?’

‘There’s no reason to. The scenery for this production is all in place and we won’t be changing it this week.’

‘I’m trying to work out when it happened. She wasn’t at home overnight. We searched her house this morning.’

‘Then it’s not impossible she did this some time yesterday. She phoned in about two in the afternoon.’

‘And spoke to you? How did she sound?’

‘Exhausted, really. She said she was sorry but she’d have to let us down because she couldn’t face the evening performance. Denise is not a skiver. I knew it was genuine. I told her to get some rest and we’d cope without her, which we did.’

‘Who was the last person who spoke to her here?’

‘One of yours.’

‘A police officer?’

‘A sergeant in uniform with a policewoman taking notes. He was doing all the talking.’

‘Sounds like Sergeant Dawkins.’

‘With a rather abrasive style of speech.’

‘Definitely Dawkins.’

Shearman was quick to add, ‘I’m not suggesting your sergeant said anything that caused Denise to take her own life.’

Privately, Diamond reserved judgement on that. He’d been driven near the limit by Dawkins. ‘Why did she come in yesterday morning?’

‘It was the obvious thing to do after what happened to Clarion. She felt responsible, being the one who made her up. I don’t think she’d slept much. Neither had I, come to that.’

‘Did she appear depressed?’

‘Anxious, certainly. Depressed, probably. Whether suicidal is another question. I had no inkling of that, I assure you. But I can imagine how it preyed on her mind as the day went on and we had no better news of Clarion. Listen, can’t we bring her down from there?’

‘Not until the pathologist has seen her and photographs are taken.’

‘It’s obvious how she died. She jumped.’

Diamond didn’t comment. He was psyching himself up for a duty he didn’t relish. ‘How would I get up there?’

‘Do you want to get closer?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t be doing it for nothing.’

‘The quickest way is up the iron ladder in the corner.’

He eyed the ladder, close to where the counterweight-carrying arbor moved up and down a track parallel to the wall. A vertical climb with the rungs spaced a foot apart looked a stern test of an overweight detective’s agility. He was in two minds. He could ask Halliwell to do it. In truth he needed to see the set-up for himself.

Shearman said, ‘There’s a little platform at each level, about every ten feet. Do you see?’

He was already having second thoughts. ‘I’ll wait for the paramedics to come down.’

‘It looks as if they’re on their way.’

With mixed feelings, he saw that they were, and so was the police officer. ‘She’s well dead,’ one of the paramedics said on reaching the ground. ‘Her neck is broken. Are you police as well?’

Diamond introduced himself. ‘No indication how long she’s been there, I suppose?’

‘I wouldn’t know. Are you going up to see?’

Duty demanded that he did. ‘I’d better.’

‘How are your knees? We can’t do much for the lady, but we’ll run you into casualty if need be.’

Bloody cheek, he thought. ‘I played rugby for ten years. My knees are as good as yours.’

‘Just asking.’

He was canny enough not to show off by shinning up the ladder like a sailor. By pausing between levels, he got to the catwalk breathing heavily, but without mishap.

Now it was a matter of edging out to view the body, making certain he clung onto the single handrail. What he saw was Denise Pearsall’s body lying face up along the battens, her head skewed into an unnatural angle, the hair red, the face deathly white. Her eyes and mouth were still open, the tip of her tongue protruding, and a line of dried blood running from the edge of her mouth to her jawbone. Traces of eye make-up and lipstick on features that had once been attractive made the death scene more grotesque. Had she prettied herself for her final act?

She’d stood no chance. She’d dropped from the loading bridge where the counterweights were added or removed, a distance at least ten metres higher, and hit the metal hard, snapping her spine at the neck. It would have been instant death, he told himself. But to see where she’d fallen from, he’d need to climb a stage higher.

It had to be done. He hauled his overweight frame up the last set of rungs until, gasping for breath, he reached the bridge, a catwalk with access to the steel cables and pulleys. Spare weights were ranged along the length of it. With only the briefest of glances downwards, he edged out to the position directly above the corpse. She’d have needed to step over the handrail. It couldn’t have been accidental. Presumably she had intended to hit the floor, not the battens below. His blood ran cold.

Over to the other side was the piece of butterfly scenery, a psychedelic monster as tall as he, probably the last thing Denise saw before she died. It hadn’t brought her much luck.

He’d seen as much as he needed. With painstaking care he picked his way down the sets of ladders.

An aroma of coffee wafted upwards. He was thinking he could do with some after that morbid duty. On completing the descent he saw Dr Bertram Sealy, the local pathologist, with his flask open. ‘Should have guessed.’

‘You should invest in one of these,’ Sealy said, holding up the flask. ‘Indispensable in my work. You’re sweating, superintendent. Did you go up to the very top? You want to watch your blood pressure, doing stuff like that in your condition.’

‘Coming from you, that’s rich.’

‘So what did you discover? I’ve heard of corpsing in the theatre, but this is excessive.’ Sealy fancied himself a master of the black humour exchanged between pathologists and policemen to make the job bearable.

‘This wasn’t a cry for help, that’s for sure. If you take a jump like that, you mean to do the business.’

‘Was she a headcase?’

‘Not known to be. But it seems she may have blamed herself for an incident here two evenings ago.’

‘The Clarion what’s-her-name thing? I saw it in the paper. Nasty.’

‘If you can give me an estimate of when death occurred, doctor, that would be useful.’

‘Said he, always the optimist. Do I need oxygen climbing that high?’

‘You ought to make it.’

‘I hope so. My wife knows I’m visiting the theatre and she told me to ask for complimentary tickets. Is it a good play?’

Sealy showing off his self-composure.

‘I haven’t seen it.’

‘You should ask for a ticket. Perks of the trade.’ Pathologists have to be positive, and Sealy lived up to the challenge. He screwed the empty cup back onto the flask and walked over to the ladder. ‘I’ll need someone to carry my bag. Do you want to go up again?’

Diamond snapped his fingers at a young uniformed constable. Then he turned his back on Sealy. ‘Does she have a room of her own somewhere?’ he asked Hedley Shearman, thinking a suicide note might exist.

‘No. Dressers do their work around the dressing rooms. The nearest thing to an office would be wardrobe.’

‘She worked out of a wardrobe?’

Shearman didn’t turn up his nose, but his eyes said a lot. ‘It’s one of the biggest places backstage, where all the costumes and wigs are stored.’

‘Beverages, too?’

‘What?’

‘I’m parched.’

‘You won’t get a drink in wardrobe, but the bars were doing some trade until we sent the audience away.’

‘Show me to the nearest, then.’ He told Halliwell to keep an eye on things and got a moody look back.

‘It’s a jewel of a theatre,’ he forced himself to say to soften up Shearman over a beer in the dress circle bar. ‘Are the finances in good nick?’

‘Reasonably good. Mostly we play to full houses.’

‘What’s the seating capacity?’

‘Eight seventy-five. We used to seat more, but we removed some capacity when we last refurbished the main house in 1999. Necessary, though. It was a tight fit before, I have to admit. The present seating is the best you’ll find anywhere, by Quinnet of Paris, who fitted out the Royal Opera House. You’re a big man, but you’d be comfortable, I assure you.’

The personal reference wasn’t welcomed by Diamond. ‘I’ve never had trouble fitting into seats.’

‘More leg room, I meant.’

‘I once sat through an entire evening here.’

‘Congratulations.’

Ignoring the sarcasm, Diamond aired more of his limited theatrical know-how. ‘You need well-known actors to bring in the audiences.’

‘Yes, but we’re not tied to the star system. We have the Ustinov Studio as part of the complex and we can put on more experimental, contemporary productions there.’

‘Clarion Calhoun was chosen for her box office appeal. Is that right?’

Shearman glanced away momentarily. ‘She wasn’t my personal pick.’

Diamond didn’t miss an opening like that. ‘You’d have gone for someone else?’

‘I had reservations about Clarion. She went to drama school, but hasn’t done much since. It was a top-level decision, the choice of play and the casting. Anyway, that’s water under the bridge. The poor woman won’t be doing any more acting in this run.’

‘How did Denise feel about the choice of Clarion in the main role?’

‘No idea. I never discussed it with her. Why should I? She was only a dresser. They’re pretty low in the pecking order. No way would they have a say in casting.’

‘But she was on the permanent staff. If there was a general feeling that Clarion wasn’t up to the job, it would have fed through to Denise.’

‘You’re losing me.’

‘There’s a sense of unity in this theatre,’ Diamond said, playing to Shearman’s vanity. ‘You sense it as soon as you step into the place. An outsider like Clarion – not known as an actor – is given the star part. There must have been some muttering in the ranks.’

‘How does this affect the tragedy of Denise’s suicide?’ Shear-man asked.

‘I’m thinking aloud. She was well placed to get Clarion sidelined.’

‘Deliberately? Oh, no.’

Diamond nodded.

Shearman dismissed the suggestion with a flap of his hand. ‘By making her up with something that damaged her face? No chance.’

‘You may as well know. It was caustic soda.’

The man jerked back so suddenly that he spilt beer on his trousers. ‘That isn’t possible.’

‘It is. It was analysed.’

After a moment of silence he said in a strangled voice, ‘I can’t accept that Denise would have done such a thing.’

‘Why else did she kill herself, then?’

Shearman thought about that and released a long, audible breath. ‘God almighty.’

‘How well did you know Denise? Was there any malice in her?’

‘Malice?’ He repeated the word as if it was foreign. ‘None that I ever noticed. We never had any complaints from actors.’

‘We’ll need to inform her next of kin. Presumably you keep her personal file somewhere?’

‘All it would have is her letter of application and some contact details. We’re a theatre, not the civil service.’

‘I’ll see it, just the same. Does she have any family?’

‘I couldn’t tell you. We weren’t on close terms.’

‘She’s been here six years, Mr Shearman.’

‘I keep telling you. She was only a dresser.’

‘It’s about rank, is it? There must be someone in this theatre she was on speaking terms with. Who did she know best?’

He hesitated. ‘She worked for Kate, the wardrobe mistress. I wouldn’t say they were the best of friends. You’d better speak to Kate. She objects to the official label, by the way. She likes to be known as Kate in wardrobe.’

‘Is she in the building now?’

‘I’m sure she is. They wash and iron the clothes after each performance. This is all such a shock. I’m still coming to terms with it. Caustic soda? I can’t believe Denise would do such an abominable thing, yet why else would she have killed herself?’

‘Will you manage without her?’

‘Of course. Actors are good at coping. Clarion was the exception and that was only down to inexperience.’

‘I ought to be getting back.’ Diamond drained his glass. ‘Just now when we spoke about the choice of play you said it was a top-level decision. You’re the boss, aren’t you?’

Shearman gave a hollow laugh. ‘Don’t be deceived. A theatre is full of egos known as managers. House, front of house, marketing, production, development. Even kids straight out of drama school are classed as assistant stage managers, or deputies. Basically, if you’re not a scene shifter or a callboy, you’re a manager of some description.’

‘But someone has to make decisions.’

‘Not me. Not this time.’

‘Who’s the big cheese, if you aren’t?’

‘The chairman of the board. Francis Melmot.’

‘He signed up Clarion?’

‘There was consultation, so-called. I was asked what I thought, but the decision wasn’t mine. He outranks me, and so do all the trustees, come to that.’ The bitterness wasn’t disguised.

‘So it’s run as a trust?’

‘Most theatres are, these days.’

‘And is it usual for the board of trustees to decide on the play?’

‘Not in this theatre. Artistic decisions are generally left to the salaried staff. We’re employed for our expertise… supposedly.’

‘You’re saying she was foisted on you by the board?’

‘I wouldn’t put it like that. You mustn’t misquote me.’ Suddenly, Shearman regretted what he’d revealed. ‘We’re very fortunate in having the trustees we do.’

‘Their decision could have a bearing,’ Diamond said.

‘No, I don’t think so. Not at all.’

‘If an exception was made and an edict was issued from on high that Clarion had to be given the role -’

‘You’re not listening. I told you there was consultation.’

‘But the decision wasn’t yours. I’d better speak to Francis Melmot.’

Shearman’s face flushed crimson. He’d given too much away. ‘Oh, dear. I don’t think this is wise. The casting has no bearing on what happened. Denise wasn’t involved in theatre politics. She got on with her job like the rest of us. There must have been some dreadful error.’

‘Caustic soda in the make-up?’

Shearman fingered his tie as if it was choking him.

They returned to the scene of the fatal incident.

High in the fly tower, photographs were still being taken of the body, but Dr Sealy was back on ground level. ‘We’ll have her down presently and I’ll do the autopsy tomorrow morning.’

‘Anything I should be told?’ Diamond asked.

‘Not really. The cervical spine appears to have snapped at the point where she hit the metalwork. Death would have been immediate.’

‘Time?’

Sealy looked at his watch. ‘Two twenty.’

‘Ten minutes ago?’ Diamond said in disbelief.

‘The legal time of death, when I confirmed that life was extinct. If you’re asking for the estimated time, the moment she died, you’re asking for the moon, old boy. I took a temperature reading, but it means very little really. There’s obvious hypostasis in the arm that hung down, so I can tell you it was some hours ago, but how many is another question.’

‘Will you know any better tomorrow?’

‘Frankly, I doubt it.’

‘Where would I be without your expert help?’

Sealy gave a shrug. ‘Now who do I see about those complimentary tickets?’

Kate, in wardrobe, sighed heavily. ‘Denise was my senior dresser. I can’t think what drove her to this.’

‘She used this room as her base, I was told.’ Diamond couldn’t see where. He was wedged between an ironing board and a washing machine. Every surface was covered in layers of dress materials. Racks of costumes, hatboxes piled high, wigs on dummy heads and sewing machines filled all the other space.

‘She did, but you wouldn’t know. She always brought her own things with her and took them away at the end of the show.’

‘What things?’

‘Her bags, I mean, with all she needed. Dressers are expected to deal with any emergency from a missing button to a false moustache that won’t stick.’

‘Make-up?’

‘In rare cases, yes.’

‘Like Clarion?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did Denise supply the make-up for Clarion?’

‘That’s right. Her own. She had a special bag for it.’

‘Describe this bag, would you?’

‘Black leather, rather like an old-fashioned doctor’s bag, with all the pots and brushes inside. I expect you’ll find it in her house.’

‘We already searched. It isn’t there.’

‘In her car, then.’

‘Do you know where she parked?’

‘Anywhere she could. Finding a place is a lottery at this time of year, with all the summer visitors.’

He looked across the heaps of costumes and materials. ‘I was wondering if she left a note somewhere.’

‘A suicide note? I haven’t found one. I don’t think she’d leave it here. Things get covered over. I’m always losing scissors.’

‘It’s worth a check.’

‘If it’s anywhere, it would be somewhere near the door where you’re standing. She’d hang her coat there and chat, just like you are.’

He didn’t class his questions as chat. After lifting everything within reach and finding no note he asked, ‘Did she seem anxious about anything?’

‘Anxious? Not Denise. She wouldn’t mind me saying she was as tough as old boots. She’d done all sorts. At one time when she couldn’t get theatre work she helped out an undertaker’s, prettifying the departed for their relatives to see them. She also toured with a theatre company in Bosnia when the war was going on. And when she was just a slip of a girl she was involved with a prison drama group in Manchester, murderers and rapists. She was no wimp, bless her.’ She produced a tissue and blew her nose, but Diamond had the impression it was more about self-pity than sympathy. The loss of the senior dresser would add to the workload.

‘Did she talk to you about the current production?’

‘I talked to her. As one of the dressers she works for me, you see.’

The pecking order again. ‘Are there others?’

‘Usually, yes, but not for this production apart from one little student who helps out. There are only seven actors and not many costume changes.’

‘Did Denise have anything to say about the casting?’

‘We consulted over the costumes and make-up.’ A guarded answer.

‘Yes, but did she say anything about I Am a Camera? Personalities, the actors in particular? You can be frank with me.’

The last words were a mistake. Kate shook her head before he’d finished saying them. He had an instinct that this big-eyed, blousy woman who didn’t like being known as the wardrobe mistress would be a rich source of gossip if only he could tap into it.

‘Come on, Kate,’ he said. ‘You just told me she liked a chat. You both had to work with the same set of people. Actors are fascinating to be around, aren’t they?’

‘Tell me about it,’ she told him, rolling her eyes, and then appeared willing to say more now that the focus had shifted from Denise. ‘They’re like kids, most of them. It’s all “me, me.” And if they’re not full of themselves they’re sucking their thumbs in a corner, wanting to be mothered. It depends.’

‘How was Clarion getting on with everyone?’

‘Clarion?’ She spoke the name as if it had no connection to the cast. ‘All right.’ Said without conviction.

‘Nervous?’

‘She was confident in one way, used to dealing with people, but it stood out a mile that she was terrified of acting. She’s used to going in front of an audience, huge audiences sometimes, but not speaking lines. She kept telling us she’d had drama training, and I think she was trying to convince herself more than us. She wasn’t much good in rehearsal.’

‘Forgetting her lines?’

‘More the way she spoke them. Trying too hard. It’s not an easy part, Sally Bowles.’

‘Was there a sense that the play was going to flop?’

Kate hesitated. He’d pressed too hard again. No one admits they’re involved in a turkey until it’s too late.

‘More nervousness than usual, then?’

‘I suppose.’

‘And how was Denise taking it? Was it personal for her?’

She was even more twitchy now that Denise’s name had come up again. ‘What do you mean – personal?’

‘She worked here a long time. She was proud of the theatre, wasn’t she?’

‘It was a job like any other. There’s this idea that theatre people are like a family. Sentimental tripe.’

‘You get dysfunctional families.’

‘Too true.’ She busied herself brushing the front of a jacket with such sudden force that it was a wonder the lapels stayed put. ‘But we’re professionals and we do the job we’re paid to do, or try to.’ There was strong resentment here, but what about he couldn’t tell.

‘If a play flops, you all work hard for small audiences and a blasting from the critics,’ he said. ‘I get the impression there was a lot of nervousness about this one. I’m wondering if Denise took it to heart.’

‘She felt we’d been short-changed with Clarion getting the role, and quite a number of us shared her opinion.’

‘But then it’s all over at the end of a week,’ he said. ‘Didn’t justify killing herself. Was she well balanced?’

‘I always thought so.’

‘Maybe there were other strains in her life.’

She was shaking her head before he’d got the words out. ‘I doubt it.’

‘Was she romantically involved with anyone?’

‘In the theatre?

‘Or outside.’

‘If she was, she never said a word about it. I’m sure I’d know. I’ve talked to her often enough about my own love life. It’s a standing joke that I wear my heart on my sleeves. Sleeves – geddit? Being upfront, as I am, I find encourages other people to share their secrets.’

People’s self-image is often at variance with reality. Diamond wouldn’t have called this lady upfront. ‘She lived alone.’

‘Her choice. Some of us think a man is for pleasure, not for life.’ Surprisingly in the circumstances, she was giving Diamond the eye. Maybe that was what she meant by upfront.

‘Did she have any other secrets I should know about?’

‘What are you hinting at? She wasn’t gay. Plenty of people in this profession are, but Denise wasn’t.’

‘On Monday when the play opened, did she call in here?’

‘Always does, about six, in time to deliver the costumes to the actors. She was no different from usual, just anxious about the first night, as we all were.’

‘Can you recall what was said?’

‘Not much. She was doing the rounds of the dressing rooms. It’s not a time for chat. I think we both said we hoped it would go better than the dress rehearsal. When the time came to sort Clarion out, she picked up her case and tootled off, as calm as a lake in heaven.’

‘Her case. You’re speaking of the make-up case?’

‘Yes.’

‘I want to be clear about this. Denise arrived with the makeup. Had she come straight here from her car?’

‘I assume so. She was still wearing her coat. Like I said, she always hung it on the door behind you.’

‘So no one could have tampered with the make-up before she got to Clarion’s dressing room?’

‘That’s for certain.’

Useful information. Suspicious as always, he’d been toying with the possibility that some other person could have added caustic soda to the make-up before the show. This seemed to scotch the theory. ‘Did you see her after the incident on stage?’

‘No, she went to the hospital with Clarion. I was way too busy helping Gisella. There was a swift decision to get her on as understudy, and my job was to get her into one of the Sally Bowles costumes.’

‘And make her up?’

Kate shook her head. ‘She was playing Natalia, so she was done already.’

‘She performed well, I gather?’

‘She was marvellous, considering. We had an ASM understudying her part – two small scenes – and she had to step up as well. Fortunately for me they’re similar in build. All it needed was some pinning here and there.’

‘What troubles me about all this,’ Diamond said, ‘is the phrase you used just now. You said when Denise left this room to go and see Clarion, she was “calm as a lake in heaven”.’

‘It’s Gilbert and Sullivan,’ she said. ‘I forget which one. Just a phrase that came to mind. Put it this way. She was her normal, placid self, well in control. What’s wrong with that?’

‘I’ll tell you. She was on her way to smear caustic soda on Clarion’s face and cause acute pain and third-degree burns, so how could she be so calm?’

‘You’ll have to work that out for yourself.’

One thing he had worked out. The wardrobe mistress and the dresser had not been on the best of terms.